We All Need Somebody To Lean On
by Citizenjess
Summary: Pietro learns a reluctant lesson about slowly starting to trust his father again. Set during season two.


Summary: Pietro learns a reluctant lesson about slowly starting to trust his father again. Inspiration for this piece is two-fold: Most recently, confusedkayt wrote an "Evolution" 'ficlet/drabble called "Mending Aqueducts," in which Magneto and Charles discuss the shoddy living situation of the Brotherhood after Mystique takes her leave of absence at the end of season one. In addition, a blog post from Geek Girls Rule! on classism in the show helped form the basis for some of my thoughts. I completely agree with the OP's point that there is a lot of unspoken classist notions in the cartoon; at the same time, some of the implications could lend themselves very easily to something like the following scenario. Title comes from Bill Withers' "Lean On Me."

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><p><strong>We All Need Somebody to Lean On<strong>

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><p>He tosses the small, black phone from hand to hand before finally, reluctantly, punching the button that will automatically dial his father's number. It rings twice, and then a deep, crisp voice floats into Pietro's ear. "Pietro," Magneto greets briefly. "Status report."<p>

"Everything's fine here," Pietro remarks, hoping that he sounds casual. Briefly, he relays the Brotherhood's recent debacle at the Bayville High football game, during which he and Avalanche and Blob and Toad had kind of made asses of themselves by showing off their mutant powers, but it had all seemed to blow over by the next day. "D'you think Professor Goody-Two-Shoes changed everyone's memories?" Pietro offers at one point, but Magneto is noncommittal in his response.

"Hmmm." There's a long silence, and Pietro is beginning to wonder if he's dropped the call. Finally, his father says, "Keep me posted. Is there anything else, Son?"

'We need money for food,' Pietro thinks. He frowns at the dingy kitchen, where he knows for a fact that exactly two things are edible, if one could count a dinged up box of uncooked pasta noodles in a flavor that Pietro hates edible. Somebody will still eat it tonight, he knows. He realizes that his father is still waiting for an answer, and pushes thoughts of his growling stomach from his mind. "No, Sir," he murmurs. "Nothing else."

"Good." When the conversation ends (Magneto always hangs up first), Pietro shoves the phone back into his pocket and sighs.

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><p>It's Mystique who decides that she can get a lot of use out of Pietro as a delivery boy. Not only is he super-speedy, but nimble, as well; plus, she seems to infer on several occasions after giving him yet another task, if he's the one to get caught at the Xavier institute, he probably has a better chance of getting out unscathed than the others. (Pietro isn't sure why she thinks so, but it's not really his place to argue with Mystique.)<p>

His latest assignment, some incriminating evidence that he intends to leave where Kitty Pryde will see it, necessitates him cutting school. It doesn't really bother him; he's never cared much for academics, preferring kinetic activities like basketball and, of course, running. Pietro knows he's smart enough, but being a teenage runaway and various other factors have all ensured that he's never cared much about applying himself to any scholarly endeavors. Why sit and rot in a classroom learning something useless like geometry when he could be doing something important, he thinks.

Getting into the mansion is easy enough for him, especially at this time of the morning, when it seems to generally be empty, and Pietro takes his time sauntering through the back way, feeling as though he's earned it. When he nears an open door, however, he stops, freezing when he hears a soft, baritone voice. 'It's the professor,' Pietro thinks, and though he knows he should just turn around and high-tail it out of here, he finds himself scrabbling against the wall, inching closer, listening carefully.

" ... they're only children ..." Xavier is saying, and Pietro smirks; the good professor vastly underestimates his students, he thinks to himself smugly. Charles' next words, however, wipe the expression clean off of his face: "It doesn't matter to me one way or the other whether they call themselves X-Men or the Brotherhood or what have you, Erik," he intones, and Pietro perks up, his eyes wide. "It does matter to me that they're receiving what care they need. Have you even checked on the house since Mystique disappeared?"

Pietro's jaw drops in shock. Quick as a flash, he covers his mouth with his hand, and runs downstairs, intending to leave as fast as he can. When he reaches the kitchen, however, he stops and leans against a countertop, his eyes prickling with tears. 'What was that?' he thinks, dumbfounded at the knowledge that his father and Xavier are, apparently, in cahoots. He's still there several minutes later when he hears the professor's voice in his head.

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><p>In the midst of his and Magneto's phone conversation, Charles' mind prickles unexpectedly. "Erik, we're going to have to continue this later," he says, and is gratified that the other man has already promised to take more of an active role in checking on the Brotherhood boys.<p>

Once their conversation has ended, he reaches out with his mind, letting it wander, trying to pick up any nearby life forms that might cause some alarm. Distantly, he can feel Wolverine in a garage, working on his bike; most of the institute students are at school. He's about ready to give up, when - 'Pietro?' Charles thinks loudly, and he can feel the boy jump. 'Don't run away again, please, Pietro,' he says calmly, sensing that the youth is about to flee. 'I would like to meet with you downstairs and have a talk.'

Once he descends the lift from his study to the first floor of his home, Charles steers his chair slowly towards the kitchen, intent on cordiality and comfort. Even so, when he palms open a door and confronts Pietro, the boy glares at him miserably, looking for all the world as though he'd rather be anywhere but here. "Good morning," Charles says to him carefully, focusing on looking disarming. He begins to wheel himself closer, but Pietro shrinks in on himself like a wounded animal, and he stops. "Pietro, I understand that you may have overheard my conversation with your father," Charles says calmly, folding his hands in his lap.

"What are you playing at?" the boy blurts, his eyes narrowed into slits. He hugs himself a little, still looking ready to bolt at any moment. "Why do you talk to Magneto like he's your friend? We're not friends," he hisses, baring his teeth at Charles. "The X-Men and the Brotherhood can never be friends."

Charles steeples his fingers; Pietro's frantic emotions are palpable, and he sends out a soothing plea for him to calm his mind. The boy continues to stare at him unhappily, and Charles sighs. "My acquaintanceship with Magneto is ... complicated," he finally says. "But I meant what I said to him, and I will say it again to you now, Pietro: You can always seek help here if you need it. You don't need to hide. I know it's very important for you and the other students to separate yourselves into factions," he continues, "but know that I will never leave you destitute if you are truly in need. You can always come here and consider this place a home."

"Right," Pietro mutters, but the words are without their usual malice. He sees the professor begin to move closer to him again, and doesn't fight it this time; instead, he plops down in a wooden chair and looks at his feet.

Charles draws close enough to place a bracing hand on Pietro's shoulder. "Now, unless Wolverine has made himself a sandwich with the leftovers, I believe there is some food remaining from last night's supper," he tells the boy, and Pietro looks up in shamed surprise. "I would very much like for you to stay and have some."

"That's okay," Pietro says automatically, but Charles won't be deterred. He watches the older man maneuver over to the large refrigerator and tug open the door, watches him pick up a plate heaped with food, which he then places in the microwave. Pietro's stomach growls and he presses his hands over it. When he looks at Charles again, the bald man's eyes are kind, understanding.

"Stay," Charles coaxes. "Join me." By the time he's filling up a clean glass with icy cold water, Pietro has already swung his legs beneath the table, murmuring shyly in gratitude when Charles presents him with the now-heated plate of food, his first real meal in days. "Eat up," the professor tells him, and Pietro lets himself give in.

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><p>Charles asks Pietro to borrow his phone, and uses it to contact Magneto, briefly summarizing the present situation. Pietro has just finished polishing off his lunch when his father slips into the house through an open window. Though his regalia makes him look as foreboding as ever, when he takes his helmet off and gives his son a once-over, his expression is warm, even a bit hurt.<p>

Charles looks tactfully away when Magneto presses a small wad of cash into Pietro's hand. "I gave you that phone for a reason, Pietro," he murmurs softly, and Pietro quickly shoves the bills into his pocket, his head down. "You are to contact me if you are in need of anything. How am I supposed to make sure you are taken care of if you won't even do that?" Charles hides a smirk at the utterly paternal nature of that statement; it's nice to know, he thinks, that he isn't the only one feeling decidedly like an old fart these days. In addition, Pietro's mumbled, "I don't know" is so sulky teenager that Charles can't help but send a thought to Magneto: 'He can't tell you. He's bound by the code of surly 15-year-old logic. Just wait until he wants to learn to drive.'

'Indeed.' Magneto's mental voice is bemused, though his actions speak even louder of the concern he has for his son. "I'll take you home," he tells Pietro, and looks around briefly. "Quiet today," he comments idly.

"Yes." Charles' smile is placid. "The majority of the house's inhabitants are at school; I'm sure that's where Pietro meant to be heading, too." Pietro flushes ruefully, but stubbornly commits to keeping mum about the envelope he left in Kitty's bedroom. This is still his job, he thinks.

When Magneto picks him up, Pietro winds his arms around his father's neck, enjoying the rare feeling of security, particularly on a full stomach. "Thank you, Charles," Magneto nods to the other man, and Charles shakes his head, still smiling.

"Of course." He looks pointedly at Pietro. "Goodbye, Pietro. Have a nice afternoon." Underneath the simple statement, however, Pietro senses something more. He recalls their earlier conversation, and Charles' promise that he's never really on his own, as long as he can muster up the strength to ask for help. Begrudgingly, the knowledge makes him smile.

"Thanks," he murmurs, and grips his father's arm tightly as Magneto lifts into the air, his own arms encircling Pietro's thin frame, taking him higher and higher and farther and farther away, until the mansion is only a speck in the distance.


End file.
